


Offerings

by purified_mangoes



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Best Friends to Lovers, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Established Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Halloween AU, Happy Ending?, Heavy topics, I had fun writing this, M/M, Mentions of Afterlife, Not A Fix-It, Reddie, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Sad with a Happy Ending, adult reddie, can anyone say bittersweet?, did someone say make us cry pls, eddie is a ghost au, follows mainly the movies, major angst, most of the losers are minor characters in this, not related to my main storyline, or sort of established, possibly happy ending, richie is a functioning human being, stan and eddie are still dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 02:41:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21263750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purified_mangoes/pseuds/purified_mangoes
Summary: Richie gets really into Halloween for very specific reasons.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is a oneshot, completely detached from and unrelated to my other fic and main storyline, Give Me Forever, Dickwad. The Richie and Eddie in that story are not the same in this timeline, I just felt like writing this Halloween story. Enjoy! Happy Halloween!

Plastic candy wrappers shone in the gleaming strings of orange lights crossing the living room. Through his window, Richie observed the glow of more strings, these artfully and carefully adhered to the outside of the home. Finishing up hooking the lights to the mantle, he stepped back and whistled. It looked good, great even. 

He’d prepared for months for this, buying an exorbitant amount of candy, decidedly purchasing one of every type. Little treats of every taste and preference found their way into his bags; he had fruity candies, chocolates, tarts, even  _ black licorice.  _ He wanted to appeal to kids with even the strangest taste buds. 

Not every bag of sweets still resided in his house though, he’d been a punctual attendee of every trunk or treat and donated goodies to several local school and church carnivals. Despite the large amount of kids in LA, Richie still wouldn’t be surprised if somehow one kid had received candy he’d bought more than once. There was even a short lived Twitter moment during which a random Buzzfeed article talking about his unusual spike in candy expenditures and donations trended. His newly found fans from the Netflix special, in which he came out, lost their minds. They retweeted random paparazzi photos of him walking with dollar store bags of candy down a busy street and one of him at a school carnival handing confused organizers his contributions. 

However, less discussed and dissected by the public was his spending habits when it came to Halloween decorations. In the last year or so since defeating Pennywise, he’d grown accustomed to scouring the internet for the coolest and best decorations to cover his home. All the bags of fake spiderwebs, boxes of string lights, blood dripping candles, and plastic and wool rodents and bats took up two shelves in his storage area in the basement. He’d even opened up a Pinterest account to look for ideas, damn it.

The strangest experience he had had in his quest for Halloween festivity had been the time he’d asked for decorations from all of the Losers the previous Halloween. Bev had been the most confused, or at the very least, the one daring enough to question a grief stricken Richie. 

“You... want Halloween decorations? From me and Ben?” He could hear her clear puzzled state through the phone. Bev’s silvery voice flitted through his ears from thousands of miles away, expressing pure confusion.

“Well, yeah. I don’t know man, I thought maybe you’d be a good source of kickass decorations. Being like a designer and everything,” he huffed out, his lame excuse not really making sense to himself either. 

She laughed, “If I’m honest with you Richie, I don’t have any decorations at all. And besides, wasn’t Halloween last week? Why do you want decorations now?” 

He licked his lips before a meek reply slipped past them. “Isn’t that the perfect time for someone to unhaul decorations? Donate them to a poor old bastard?” 

“Are you okay, Richie?” Her voice had dropped lower, her soothing statements coming out a little slower, more patient and open. “I’m here if you ever want to open up and talk.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, “I know, Bev, don’t worry about me. I’m the same old Trashmouth I usually am, just looking to celebrate better next year, you know?” 

“Celebrate Halloween? For no reason?” 

“Hey! I didn’t say that, I have plenty of reasons. I gotta give these pretentious fuckers out here a run for their money. Karen from down the street is annoying me with her perfect lawn and big ass animatronic ghost thing. Sort of looks like a dildo if I’m honest with ya.” 

She chuckled at that and thankfully dropped the subject. 

But while she was the one to question him, the other Losers still displayed the same confusion. They also didn’t have any decorations to help fund the Richie-Is-Being-Weird project, he received only one: from Ben.The sweetheart had obviously been informed of Richie’s search and mailed him a cute white ceramic pumpkin out of some strange, touching mix of pity and fondness for Rich. 

Regardless, receiving little help from the Losers on that front, Richie determined he needed to put his money where his mouth was, and started his journey clipping coupons and finding discount holiday items. Richie knew he’d gone all out, and perhaps it was excessive, but it was also necessary. He’d learned that the hard way the year before.

He smiled sadly, reaching out to adjust Ben’s pumpkin on the kitchen counter. He began his walk through of the house, a plastic tote of extra decorations resting under his arm. The living room won as the most festive room, the couch covered in blankets matching the palette of fall. Fake spiderwebs draped on the corners of the TV matched the ones outside on his front porch, little spiders scattered on every surface. He had enough plaid in the room to outfit an arena full of lesbians and hipster dudes. And that wasn’t even the half of the decorations in the space. Once satisfied with his inspection, he tucked the tote away in a corner, and perused the kitchen for a small dinner before the trick or treaters came knocking. 

Minutes later, he found himself sitting before a Marie Callendars’ “Spaghetti with Meat Sauce” dinner. It didn’t even taste good, but God, the nostalgia it brought flooded all his senses with a delicious bittersweetness. He scarfed it all down before rinsing his plate and checking the time. He had about fifteen minutes before the kids and their parents started flooding the streets. A quick peek out the window showed him that some had started early. So, flipping on his witch’s hat and scurrying out to the porch with his custom made giant cauldron of candy, Richie turned on the speakers to fill the space with a Halloween soundtrack and settled into his folding chair for the night. 

Hours and hundreds of pieces of candy later, Richie finally had the opportunity to wave to the final stragglers and set the nearly empty cauldron on the step just in case if any other children came by, they could grab a handful at their discretion. He looked fondly at the street, at cars driving slowly to pick up groups, at houses already flipping off their lights and calling it quits on the best night of the year. 

Tiredly, he padded inside, removed his hat, and returned to the mantle. On it were two photos, pictures he learned to set out from his previous year’s experience. He produced from his pocket a bird feather and a bottle of aspirin, gently placing them in front of their respective photos. Gazing at them for several moments, he sighed. The offering of snacks, candies, and tokens laid dispersed between handfuls of flowers. Both pictures were surrounded with yellow marigolds, Richie had read that those were “flowers of the dead,” and he bought several bouquets worth in an attempt to entice the spirits to come forth. 

But a clear bias in the flower arrangement existed, Richie sheepishly noted. Eddie’s photo rested in front a vibrant collection of blossoms. Tulips, forget-me-nots, sprigs of lavender, red roses, orchids, daisies, and carnations laid in clustered stacks. When he’d asked the florist for the flowers in that arrangement, they’d gawked at him, gently informing him of how much those colors and scents would clash. But he insisted politely, and they’d come through with an incredibly large, impressive bouquet. Now, the flowers bordered the frame, where Richie had even placed some dill, though that came from the spice aisle of the grocery store. He’d read that it represented love and meant “good spirits,” which made him laugh. His little spitfire ghost needed some good spirit alright. 

Still, he chuckled nervously about the obvious disparity between the two set ups, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry Staniel, your flowers seem a little lame now that I’m looking.” 

“What the fuck are you apologizing for?” A voice came from behind him. 

Richie jumped, spinning around to view the spirit. His lips broke into a massive grin upon seeing Stan, whose dark curls and smile looked less transparent than he’d expected. His cardigan and button down clad torso also appeared surprisingly sturdy and as Richie instinctively lunged forward to wrap Stan in his arms, he discovered that Stan was in fact solid.

Richie gasped, burying his face in the crook of Stan’s shoulder as he tightened his arms. A million and one questions overtook his mind, and his trashmouth struggled to keep up with them all, “How? How is this - Why are you so early? Where is Eds -” 

Stan’s hand came to rest on Richie’s shoulder blade, and he relaxed in the embrace. A smile sang in his voice as he responded, “Relax, Rich, I’ll explain in a minute. Just let me take a moment, it’s been a minute since I’ve last been on Earth.” 

Richie forced himself to remain silent as they stood like that for a long time. Eventually pulling away, Richie offered a seat and a drink to Stan, who raised an eyebrow at the latter option while taking his place on the couch. “You know I can’t drink or eat, right?” 

“How the fuck am I supposed to know that, Stanley?” Richie sat down beside him, positioning his body towards the ghost. 

Stan shrugged and smiled, “I don’t know, man. Just assumed that you’d figured it out by now. We’ve been watching you research this stuff and laughing at you. The thing with the sage was really funny, Georgie got a kick out of it.” 

Richie flushed, remembering how he’d nearly set his curtains on fire improperly lighting the sage, only to find out later there was a large controversy surrounding the use of sage at all and that he probably didn’t need to try to bless his house. Brushing past that awkward memory, Richie snarked back, “Kiss my ass, I was just trying to set up a good space for you ungrateful fuckers.” 

“Unnecessarily, we can only come this one night anyways.” 

“That’s not what Eddie’s mom said, am I right?” Richie raised his hand for a high five, but ghost Stan was having none of it, simply staring at him with a well contained smile tugging his lips. 

“Why is it unsurprising that even in your forties, you still act like a twelve year old?” 

Richie shook his head and laughed, “You’d be surprised, I can actually manage to adult fairly well most days.” He gestured loosely towards mantle. “I put all of this together for you guys.” 

Stan’s smile turned serious and tender, his eyes dragging across the space filled with tokens of love. Richie had obviously taken much care in building their altars and selecting their offerings, it was touching. An elegant light wood frame protected Stan’s photo. In initially setting up the space, Richie regretted not having a picture of Stanley as an adult like he’d had of Eddie. So reaching through messy and tenuous lines of communication, he’d contacted Patty Uris, who demurely and sorrowfully offered him several scrapbook pages worth of pictures.They’d talked for hours over the phone, Richie offering as much information about their childhood as he could. He filled in the many blanks Mrs. Uris had surrounding Stan’s adolescence. As she explained quietly, “He didn’t talk much about Derry, but I think something there bothered him.” 

From that long talk came many memories and satisfying answers, as well as numerous photos. From those pictures ranging through all of Stan’s twenties and thirties, Richie picked one from a wedding, though Patty explained it wasn’t theirs. Stan, dressed up and surrounded by miscellaneous glasses at a round table, grinned widely at the camera, his adoration for the woman taking the photo clear. 

As clear as the same devotion in Stan’s eyes when he stared at the photo, remembering the way Patty’s smile lit up behind the lense. Deep in reflection, he murmured, “It’s perfect, Rich. It’s why we are so real tonight.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Peeling his attention away, Stan’s gaze met Richie’s confused one. “I mean, your offerings were strong enough to help us through the veil. I think that’s why we can touch, why I haven’t disappeared yet. I think you have until midnight.” 

Richie looked desperate, “You think? So where’s Eddie? Why hasn’t he showed up?” 

Stan flashed a plain smile before returning his stare to the offering, “I mean, no one explains this shit to us, we sort of figured it out ourselves, except we didn’t have Google like you.” He frowned and nodded, musing, “Though to be quite honest, I do miss being able to look things up, I miss my trivia nights with Patty.” 

Richie simply gawked at Stanley, his questions still burning in his throat. “How is Eddie?” 

A hand waved him away, Stanley merely offering, “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

Sucking in a breath over a dry tongue, Richie blurted, “Am I going to die?” 

Stan made a face and burst into laughter, struggling to compose himself for Richie’s sake, who, at this point, began laughing nervously himself. Wiping nonexistent tears from his eyes, Stan breathed out his shaky response, “No you idiot, I mean he’s coming to visit you soon. We decided I should visit you for the first hour, and he could have the rest of the night with you to himself.” 

Relief had never flooded Richie’s veins faster than it did in that moment, he almost felt light headed from the confirmation that he would see Eddie again. Dizzy, he laughed and his smile returned in full force. The need to see Eddie again, to touch him, nearly overwhelmed and he wondered if it was possible to run to Heaven and demand access to the spirits held there. It didn’t matter to him how out of shape he was, he’d run all sixty two miles up into space to see Eds. 

Oblivious to Richie’s internal struggle, Stanley stood and plucked a small box off of his offering pile, returning to the couch to open it. Scattering the puzzle pieces on the coffee table and shuffling several fake spiders off onto the rug, he started, “So how’s life, Trashmouth?” 

And so began their conversation, lasting the full duration of their time. They touched on many things as their hands brushed over the pieces, one cold and dead, the other warm and very much alive. Richie explained how Stan’s letter had inspired him to come out, and he did so on his very own, self written comedy special. Completely shifting demographics from young males already well versed in dick jokes, to younger, more open minded people, Richie had kickstarted a part of his career no one expected. His special well received, his internet popularity had skyrocketed. He told Stan about his adventures on Twitter and how he had at this point had several screencaps from his shows turned into fairly successful memes. 

Stan smiled through all of this, and when the conversation shifted more towards his side, he gave only polite, vague answers. 

“So how’s Heaven up there, Staniel the Maniel?” Richie bumped into his shoulder with his own. 

Stan shook his head, reaching for a piece across the table. “I’m afraid to say I can’t talk much about the afterlife. But it’s whatever you expect it to be.” 

“So lots of hookers and cocaine?” He replied with a shit eating grin. 

All but rolling his eyes, Stan fitted a piece in the border, completely nearly eighty percent of the puzzle. “Oh shut up, we all know your gay ass’ heaven is with Eddie.” 

Flushing, Richie changed the subject, “I thought you said you didn’t know much about it all, the afterlife and shit. How come you know you can’t talk about it?” 

Shrugging, Stan only offered a frustratingly cryptic answer, “It just feels that way, I just know what I’m not supposed to tell.”

He slipped the last piece into place, and examined the board. Richie watched him, fascinated. He studied the profile of one of his best friends, now an adult, now  _ dead _ . He watched the ghost slide his hands over corduroy pants, and turn to him. “I think it’s about time for me to go, Rich.” 

Richie nodded, looking down at the finished puzzle. A scene of birds, of course.

Slowly, unsure, and hesitant to part, they both stood. This time, Stan initiated the hug, squeezing his arms around Richie’s ugly Halloween themed Hawaiian shirt. There were no tears, agonized words, or overbearing sadness. When it felt right, and only then, did Stan break away and head towards the front door. Richie followed, his hand coming to rest on the door Stan opened. They faced each other before Richie said his goodbye, “Thanks Stan, I love you.” 

“I love you too, Rich. Thank you for checking on Patty for me.” 

Richie felt tears start to well, despite the strange peace he felt inside. “No problem, man. Same time next year?” He asked with a wink that released one of his tears. 

Stanley Uris nodded and smiled before turning and stepping down the three stairs to the sidewalk. As he passed by, one of Richie’s two jack o’lanterns’ candles blew out. He kept walking forward until his steps became lighter, lighter, lighter and he was no longer there at all. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The year Richie discovered the joy of Halloween.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I extended this fic by a single chapter, and am considering adding another to four. The way it's planned out now, the main story-line will end with three chapters, but a fourth chapter might happen as an epilogue, we'll see. Enjoy :) Sorry that the Halloween fic is surpassing actual Halloween, that was poor planning on my part. 
> 
> Also for any readers who are also following Give Me Forever, Dickwad, there should be a chapter up for that story in the next day or two. I'm actually out of town right now, so scheduling is strange.

**One year earlier **

Time passed in the strangest way, flowing in uneven increments just like the drinks did. Some days Richie felt every second slowly march by with alarm. Single moments stretched to an infuriating and heart rending degree, every beat of every day meaning more time slipped in between the last time he’d seen Eddie. What was a man to do to cope when the love of his life was literally ripped from his arms? The answer he found in the chaos that became his life After It was alcohol, every kind, any price, any time. For every second that dripped by, so too did the drink. Maybe it was cliche, but hey, his dramatic, repressed gay ass was a cliche in and of itself. 

He’d been this way for a couple months now, It happened in August, and now it was October. October 31st to be exact, but he only knew that because of the knocks and ringing from the trick-or-treaters. Lucky bastards, Richie thought glumly. They didn’t have to live in a world with Pennywise, didn’t have to spend their childhood preoccupied with constant reminders of their nebulous mortality. He didn’t envy them, he told himself. Not at all. He tried in vain to feel the way the other Losers seemed to, tried to buy into the notion that the Losers had become heroes three months before.

Of course, it couldn’t be fair to say that all the Losers were wrapped up in a noble fantasy, their thoughts on the events of the summer were too nuanced and buried beneath confused suffering to be as simple as a hero complex. So maybe it was just his bitterness speaking when he applied the label of “hero complex” to all of them, but goddamn, it was annoying and unfair to hear their sentiments in the aftermath. 

“You know, Rich, we did the right thing. You did the right thing. We needed to end things to protect Derry, we had to protect those kids.” Mike had gently reminded him in one of their weekly phone calls. All the Losers had carved out time in their busy schedules to routinely reach out to Richie, who as a now washed up comedian had all the terrible fucking time in the world to be rescued.

“You know, Mike, fuck Derry. Fuck those kids.” Richie had bit back. 

With a chuckle, Mike’s reply came smoothly, unaffected by the pain Richie felt. “I think it’s a bad idea to “fuck those kids,” Trashmouth. That’ll get you a felony and Hollywood scandal real fast.” 

In the time Before It, Richie would’ve given a witty, fast retort. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that anymore, even with the Losers, he couldn’t make jokes. Which contributed to the state of his essential unemployment with only one more show booked for the rest of the year, and the success of that looming event remained doubtful. The world just didn’t seem funny anymore, and if it did, the humor proved too bitter to make anyone other than himself laugh. 

So the rest of the call with Mike just stayed awkward, Richie dutifully playing his role as the crowd for which a joke had bombed: stiff and embarrassed on behalf of the joke teller. 

But the calls persisted, and not two days had passed since the Mike conversation before he’d found himself in a similar situation with Bill. The topic inevitably drifted towards Richie’s grief and general mental health, which led to some fuckery of epic proportions.

Bill echoed Mike’s message. “It’s okay to let go, R-Richie. You d-didn’t do anything w-wrong. You helped.” 

All Richie could manage in response was a long sigh, and flipping the air off on his side of the call. But Bill continued anyways, ignorant of the strain Richie felt in staving off his freak out.

“I m-mean it. Eddie knew w-what he was getting into.” 

Something snapped. “Eddie didn’t sign up to die, you fucking asshole. He made an oath as a goddamn child, and now he’s gone and he’s stuck down there in the fucking dark and fuck all of you fuckers! You got your happy, good ending, Eds didn't.” When he stopped, his breathing was irregular.

“Rich -” 

“No. Don’t try to make me feel better, Bill. I love you, man, but no.” He paused, feeling his heart wrench in his chest before he uttered the most honest thing he’d ever said. “You guys should’ve left me down there with him.” 

There was no coming back from that, the calls only increased as his statement spread to the rest of the group. Confident that they all had a separate group chat about his state, Richie understood their concern and so he begrudgingly accepted the calls. He answered their questions, and used an incredible amount of restraint in not snapping again. Bev proved especially tenacious; her biggest fear was him winding up like Stan, like how she predicted they’d all go out if they hadn’t defeated It. He didn’t blame her, he thought about it too sometimes. 

But thankfully, their calls didn’t extend into Halloween, when he really freaked out. The second he peeked out his window and saw a clown costume, it was all over. He hit his liquor cabinet hard that night, drinking himself into a stupor and finding himself driven mad by the insistent knocking. He’d wound up in his bathtub, curled up with his face buried between his knees. The urge to vomit grew stronger the more he drank and cried, but he couldn’t stop himself. His addiction to the pain tormented him, urged him on to fall deeper and deeper. The thematic symbolism of being in the bathtub didn’t elude him either, he was reminded of Stan instantly as he turned on the showerhead, the hot water drenching his shaking, clothed body. 

Only when he felt numb did the arms surround him. Turning, he could barely see Eddie next to him, looking like heaven itself. His shape endured in defiance of his existence as a ghost, the outline of his strong, gorgeous jaw waved; he shimmered like gossamer. 

Richie leaned into the touch gratefully, the water still cascading over both of them. The words falling slurred and mixed from his trembling lips made little sense, but above all, the phrase “I love you” prevailed. He said it over and over like a mantra, whimpering it in Eddie’s ear, himself too far gone to understand what he was doing. Facing his biggest fear of rejection, confessing his devotion, none of it meant anything to his alcohol-addled brain.

All he knew was Eddie was there, holding him, giving him more solace and comfort than anything or anyone in months had offered. 

And he knew Eddie was _ saying it back _ . His usually high, semi panicked voice lightened, turning to the most gentle and divine sound Richie’d ever heard. It spread like a balm over his pain, seeping into the metaphorical hole in his chest, one comparable to Eddie’s fatal wound. Like magic, like they were magnetized, their lips found each other in a moment Richie’s fuzzy brain couldn’t recall perfectly the next day, but knew had happened regardless. He could fill in the blanks, could guess how soft and wonderful Eddie had felt against him, how they had spent the rest of that Halloween night kissing and clutching each other’s soaked forms until the veil thickened at midnight and Eddie was gone again. 

Richie stayed there, shaking, whispering “I love you, Eds” to himself until his little remaining common sense kicked in, he turned off the water, and let his exhaustion overtake him. 

The next morning, he stepped out of the tub, way too hungover for his age, and sopping wet. Despite everything, he felt oddly light, refreshed, renewed. His body was weighed down, and he quickly stripped out of his clothes, before returning to the shower. While the water heated up, he tried in vain to remember the previous night, beating himself up over his blackout. He failed to recall the specifics while he was in the shower too, scrubbing himself with nearly scalding water and taking more care to wash his hair than he had in a long time. Stepping out of the shower, he reached for a towel near the mirror and yelped. 

Written in the steamy mirror was a message that confirmed what he’d suspected of the night before, “Until next year, ‘Chee. I love you.” 

Thusly his obsession with all things Halloween began, and fueled his year's worth of research, hope, and fixation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I'm playing with time hopping in writing stories, I'm a fan.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie reunites with Eddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So I know this is a Halloween fic, but the Halloween happy goodness is kinda lacking so idk if it counts as Halloween. Be aware this chapter gets pretty angsty, if you're feeling blue or overwhelmed from all the chaos of the world right now, this fic may not soothe you, just a heads up. It has a happy ending, but it deals heavily with grief. If you don't feel like feeling the feels right now, bookmark for later when the world isn't so crazy.

When Richie stepped back into his house and closed the door, he immediately started crying, finding himself sitting on the floor of the entryway. The impact of seeing Stan again was so great, his departure back to wherever the fuck the afterlife was proved difficult to watch. Richie never could have imagined seeing his best friend step off his porch and literally disappear into the air, but then again, he supposed anything could happen when you grew up and fought an alien monster in ShitFuckNowhereVille, Maine. 

Regardless, his heart hurt. Stan seemed happy, or at least content with wherever he’d ended up, and it helped knowing that he was coexisting with Eddie and oh god, Georgie. Richie wondered what Georgie looked like now, had he stayed as a child or did his version of the afterlife allow him to change and develop in the way he was meant to? Was that a decision he was able to make? What about his personality, had his gruesome traumatic death reshaped him? Questions like this swarmed in his brain like an angry mob of bees, threatening to sting at his softest, most sensitive parts until he broke down completely. The knowledge that very few, if any of his queries would ever be answered in his life frustrated him to no end. 

The only sense of relief he received came with remembering that he’d see Eddie soon. His selfish heart beat a little faster, and he composed himself, pushing Stan and Georgie out of the forefront of his mind. His head needed to be level to truly indulge himself with Eddie tonight. Standing and wiping his eyes under his thick frame glasses, Richie started to head into the bathroom, where he looked himself over. 

He’d made an at least partial attempt to look his best that day, which wasn’t saying too much. He certainly wasn’t winning any style awards anytime soon; he just didn’t have time to be paying any mind to his looks. Most of his attention in the previous months directed itself at researching and preparing for the festivities, and most of that time had been spent aimlessly wondering if his offerings would work at all. He noted the obvious bags under his eyes, the gray crescents confessing his insomnia to anyone who viewed them. The lines in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes had him reeling as well, making him feel like he was a forty year old PTA mom lunging for the anti aging cream. Damn, he sounded ridiculous. What could he change about his appearance in the next several minutes before Eddie showed up? Not much, he thought anxiously as he licked his lips. 

Settling on brushing his teeth, Richie thought about Eddie, how nervous he was to see him again. It had him blushing and ruminating over every detail for months. Dread cartwheeled through his stomach when a new thought occurred. What if Eddie didn’t show? Or couldn’t? What if Richie seeing Stan was the one visit he could have a year, and Stan just didn’t know that? Richie’d never really tried this ritual before, what if there were things about it he didn’t know that would prevent Eddie from coming? What if -? Spitting, Richie forced himself to focus, forced himself to concentrate on the mint of the toothpaste and the foam lining his lips. He grounded himself, allowed for himself to relax; it was a trick he’d learned from his therapist and one he used often. 

Distracting himself, he thought of lighter things. Part of him hoped Eddie would shit talk his decorations and planning just so he could get a taste of their banter again, Richie had been talking out loud with little quips and jabs to Eddie ever since he died. He yearned to hear Eddie’s loud, erratic comebacks and to see his hand come up to emphasize the dangers of whatever illness he was describing. Richie laughed just imagining it. 

Leaning to spit into the sink, he sang out, “Eds, my love, what I wouldn’t give to see your crazy ass inspect my habits again.” 

“I don’t need to inspect them, I already know they’re fucking gross.” 

This time Richie shrieked and his head snapped up, seeing Eddie in the mirror behind, radiant as ever. “Jesus Christ! Is this just like ghost protocol?” Still, he flung his toothbrush down and spun around to envelop Eddie in his arms. 

Laughing, Eddie returned the hug eagerly, burying his face in Richie’s neck. The elation Richie felt in finally having this moment was worth the months of preparation, worth all the agonizing about the possibility of it never coming to fruition. The extremely selfish part of him felt glad he’d decided not to reach out to the Losers about this, they probably would’ve thought him insane anyways. But even if it had worked in that timeline, he couldn’t convince himself that it’d be better seeing Eddie with the Losers there as well. Call him greedy, but it was true. 

The feeling he had swirling in his chest was enough to make him dizzy, it felt as though a beam of magic had passed through him. Something in the way Eddie’s hand found its way to his curls and tugged gently struck a chord, the soft noise he made in response making up its own fragile melody. Richie’s almost whimper said much more than his strained voice tried to, he was speechless, and Eddie simply hugged harder in response.

A low hum emanated from Eddie’s throat, but his tight, real grip around Richie’s waist never loosened. “It’s good to see you, ‘Chee.” 

“You have no idea, Eds.” Richie mumbled into Eddie’s hair, trying to make his smelling it as subtle as possible. It smelled clean, and mildly like coconut. He hugged a little harder and moved his face down to Eddie’s shoulder, burying his face in the lean muscle there. 

“Don’t call me that, asshole.” 

Richie snorted, his breath huffing out onto Eddie, tickling him. Shrieking and trying to pull away, Eddie yelped out Richie’s name, only making Richie want to mess with him more. “You dick! Stop it!” 

“Not until you let me call you Eds!” Richie pressed his face harder into Eddie’s neck and breathed hard into it, making more snorting noises until Eddie was roaring with laughter and desperately trying to twist out of his grip. 

“Richie!” Eddie squealed and fought, but Richie could tell he wasn’t using anywhere remotely near the amount of strength he could’ve. 

The moment shifted hard as Richie softened his motions and brushed his lips over the crook of Eddie’s neck, right above the alcove of his collarbone. The squeal on Eddie’s tongue turned to a softer gasp and he stiffened in their embrace. Richie immediately stopped, he pulse quickening and a feeling of worry rushing over him, when Eddie didn’t move, he took a chance and tentatively pressed a kiss to his neck, moving up higher. Eddie’s throat vibrated minutely with contented hums, and he tugged on Richie’s hair to urge him on. 

If Richie hadn’t ever taken a task seriously before, then this was the one that he did. He focused all of his usually divided attention with a fervor he didn’t expect even out of himself. Dragging his bottom lip up the column of Eddie’s throat earned the reward of the most noise, though Richie delighted in the way Eddie trembled when he bit gently into the hard expanse of his shoulder. This worship, a divine grace for which Richie was grateful, could only last so long, and too soon for Richie’s eager mouth, Eddie shifted his hand in his hair and pulled them apart. 

They stared at each other, blue and brown eyes searching for an explanation for the incomprehensible amount of love they both felt. This was real, this should’ve been impossible; but yet, here they were, and if that wasn’t some sort of intense and profound testament to something called devotion, then Richie didn’t know what was. 

A small laugh fell from lips already missing Eddie’s skin as Richie gazed at his love. “So this is real, huh? I didn’t dream this up last year?” 

Eddie’s hand moved, leaving Richie’s black curls feeling lonely. But he rested his palm against Richie’s stubbled jaw and let his thumb stroke gentle lines along his cheek. Eddie’s eyes softened, and his mouth pressed into a hard line while he considered what Richie said. Slowly, he shook his head, “It’s real, Rich. It’s really real.” He let his eyes wander, and Richie felt them studying his hair, jaw, lips. They eventually found their place back looking Richie in the eyes, and Eddie licked his lips, cleared his throat. “I’ve been waiting for this all year. Time works a little differently, you know, there. But it’s been really special to watch you preparing for this. It’s really -” He paused, taking a shuddering breath. “It’s really nice, Rich.” 

Tears threatened to spill, and Richie really didn’t want to cry onto Eddie’s hand, so he stayed silent and just pressed his lips to Eddie’s. Kissing him sober was so much better than Richie could have anticipated. The tilt of their heads together, the soft noises they sent into each others’ mouths, even the way their noses bumped momentarily when they shifted; it all drove Richie mad with longing. He wanted this all the time, not just one night a year. Unfair didn’t even begin to cover it, and with thinking about that, the tears finally did leap from their perch on his eyelashes down to trace his cheeks.

Eddie pulled back, concern on his handsome features, and Richie noticed the pearls of tears on his jaw too. Reaching up to dab at Richie’s tears on his skin, Eddie’s gaze softened, “Rich?”

“I’m sorry, this is embarrassing.” Richie laughed awkwardly, crying even harder. “I meant to make your dick wet, not your face with my tears. Wait - I mean, I wasn’t going to cry on your dick. Your ghost penis. Do ghosts have penises?” 

Furrowing his brow, Eddie meant to respond, and opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He had no idea what to say. He settled on shaking his head, his hands still on Richie's shoulders, and laughed. “I don’t know what to do with you. Come on.” 

Before he knew it, Richie found himself sitting back in the same spot he had been with Stan. But this time, Eddie kicked off his loafers and leaned back against the arm of the couch. He opened his arms and nudged Richie with his foot. 

Staring, Richie sniffled, rubbing his sleeve under his nose messily to collect any escaped snot. “What?” He asked. 

He made a motion for Richie to come closer. “Come here. I thought maybe we could, I don’t know. Lay down? I mean, I could hold - Hold, you?” His barely there sentence ended with much hesitation. Halfway through, it was clear he began to doubt himself and Richie smiled as he watched Eddie struggle over ‘hold.’ He was so fucking adorable. 

“You wanna cuddle? Aww, Eddie-bear, you’re so sweet!” Richie grinned and sniffled again. 

He delighted in watching the immediate flush spread across Eddie’s features, his nose scrunching up and his middle fingers turning up despite the welcoming arc his arms still made. Richie laughed, and scooted closer. He tucked himself on his side between Eddie and the back of the couch, ungracefully shoving his arm underneath Eddie’s torso before he settled down and rested his head on Eddie’s shoulder. He moved his hand to lay on Eddie’s chest, and froze. “Wait, Eds - “

“It’s healed, Richie. Don’t worry.” 

“Seriously? It healed in…” His voice trailed off, unsure of what to call it. The afterlife? In death? 

With patience, Eddie humored him and pulled away by a hair’s breadth. He tugged his shirt up, lifting his hips so the back could be moved as well, introducing the hand Richie had tucked there with cold skin. Richie gasped before he could stop himself. His eyes left Eddie’s, where they’d been fixed, and he stared at the place where It’d skewered him. 

The gaping hole, puckered and rimmed with shards of rib and sternum, had filled with solid, slightly pink flesh. The afterlife had performed a miracle of some sorts, repairing that wound. How did it happen? Gradually? Did Eddie wake up in the afterlife, healed, flawless, pure? Or did part of his arrival in death involve feeling the hole close, enduring the experience of sinew and muscle fibers stretching over torn apart organs? Did he feel all those cells dissipate and reform like magic? Did he feel all of that blood washing back through his veins?

Richie whimpered, blinking away the visual he’d given himself. He almost could see it playing out before him, if he just squinted a little, suddenly Eddie’s perfect chest was bathed in red. 

“Richie?” Eddie whispered lowly. 

With a low note emanating from his throat, Richie blinked harder, trying to stop the red. 

Eddie put his shirt down and immediately pulled Richie to him. He came willingly, letting himself be surrounded by Eddie’s arms. He moaned in pain and the floodgates burst as he felt cold, nimble fingers gently scratching through his hair. His sobs filled the living room, and he felt incredibly pathetic. 

“I’m sorry, Eds. I - I shouldn’t be this way.” Richie spat out in between wracking cries, his chest heaving against Eddie’s healed, unmoving one. The sensation of breathing against one who couldn’t made Richie break again, the realization that Eddie never inhaled or exhaled anymore crushing him. It made his own chest shake more, and he gripped on tighter. “I shouldn’t -” 

“Richie, baby, it’s okay.” Eddie murmured, his own voice revealing some hint of despair. “You’re okay, I know this is hard. You’re okay.” 

His breathing became more erratic, the need to yell or have his throat explode in some sound of agony rushing him. He felt it all crushing him, legions of whimpers threatening the border of his vocal chord. He needed to get the noise, the pain, out. 

Eddie’s hand gripped his hair harder, and his other hand rubbed track field ellipses in his back. “Rich, you have to slow down. Breathe.” 

He immediately resisted the instructions, his throat becoming even tighter, close to squeezing out the painful keening noise he felt compelled to make. The pain had to come out sometime, like a wounded animal expressing their ache with wails. 

“Rich, look at me. You gotta look at me.” 

Those words made it through the murky fog clouding his oxygen-deprived brain, his panic lessening marginally with Eddie’s voice. He raised his head, meeting Eddie’s soft, sympathetic gaze. “Breathe, Rich, come on, just like when I had asthma attacks. You’re okay.” 

Eddie gently swiped some of Richie’s tears with his thumb, brushing the cold and semi rough pad of his finger over Richie’s cheekbone. “Listen to me, it’s okay. Breathe slowly, we have plenty of time.” 

Richie laid his head back down, purposefully tucking his face to the side and beginning the count in his head for breathing. He held in the bigger breaths, savoring the burn in his throat, it mixed well with the pained noises still trapped there. Holding it pushed them back down and then soothed them away when he finally released the breath. The tears kept falling, but quietly, without all the fanfare. Eddie’s hands never once stilled, but he pushed his nose and lips into Richie’s wild curls, kissing his scalp lightly through his mane. They sat there like that for as long as Richie needed, until his breathing wasn’t a counting game and he felt his tears stop. 

“You’re okay, ‘Chee, it’s all okay,” Eddie said into the curls, and Richie pulled back, looking back up. 

Richie sighed looking at Eddie, admiring how positively stunning the man next to him was. He extracted himself from Eddie’s arms and sat up more, watching Eddie straighten against the arm of the couch. He held onto his hand, playing with the webbing between his fingers and admiring how clean his nails were. He brushed his lips against Eddie’s knuckles and kissed the tip of every finger, knowing Eddie watched him do so. Pulling back, he sighed again, facing Eddie. 

“It’s not okay, Eds. I’m not okay,” Richie said, his voice hoarse. 

He simply stared back, with that soft, sweet gaze. 

Richie glanced behind him at the clock on his wall, an hour and fifteen minutes to midnight. He turned again to Eddie, his heart breaking at how melancholy he felt in the moment. “I’m s-” 

“Don’t say you’re sorry. I’ve wanted this all year.” 

“All year? You’ve wanted to come watch me fall apart on the couch for a year?” Richie let out a weak whistle, “I’ve got to say that’s a pretty lame goal, Spaghetti.” 

He grimaced a little and leaned closer, kissing Richie’s shoulder before resting his head on it. He picked up Richie’s hand and took his time playing with it, just as Richie had. He started to speak, quietly explaining while he separated fingers and kissed calluses. “It’s better than watching you fall apart and not being able to do anything. And it’s okay if you fall apart tonight, it’s hard. This is all really hard. I’m proud of how you’ve been living. You’re doing great, Rich.” 

“I don’t feel great.” 

“Well, no, but -” 

“And I wouldn’t say I’m really living, I’m existing. I’m working towards Halloween.” 

“Richie -” 

“And I kind of hate being ali -.” 

“Richie.” Eddie cut him off. He looked up at him with mournful eyes. “You have to keep living. I will be fucking pissed if I go back and see you there sooner than I need to.” 

“What? Don’t want me to come annoy you up there?” Richie teased, but the joke fell flat. 

They stared at each other until Eddie whispered, “You have to live for you, Rich, not for me.” 

Richie sucked in a breath and looked away, feeling the tears come again. A gentle hand pulled his face back towards the ghost and Eddie continued, “You deserve happiness, I’m not here to give it to you. And if I were still alive, I still wouldn’t be giving you happiness, I’d only be a catalyst for you to find it yourself.” 

He shook his head adamantly despite his chin being in Eddie’s gentle grasp. He leaned into the stroking thumb on his jaw and argued, “You would've given me all the happiness in the world, Eds. We were going to have a life together. I was going to ask you to move out here, I was going to tell you everything, I was going to take you to the Kissing Bridge after It.” The tears started flowing again.

Through the blur, Richie saw Eddie bow his head and let his own tears fall. “And who says I wasn’t there at the Kissing Bridge with you, after It? Who says I wasn’t incredibly proud and watching, wishing too?” He took a shaky breath. “But, Rich, you did that for yourself too, I didn’t give you coming out, I didn’t give you relief and joy. I didn’t help you write the special and free you. You did, you deserve this all. You need to live for this and for yourself.”

Richie felt his eyebrows turn up and his expression crumble, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s. They each cupped their hands around each other’s necks, their breaths mixing in the space between them. 

“I wish we could have a life, too. But, you need to let go. I’ll always be here, in the background, in your memories, on this couch on Halloween. I’ll be in every audience, on every stage with you. I’ll always love you, Richie, you know that.” 

Richie could only listen and nod, his red rimmed eyes trying to meet Eddie’s beautiful brown ones through the blur. “I love you too, Eds.”

‘Then you have to listen to me, asshole.” He smiled at the laugh Richie gave. He began petting the hair at the nape of Richie’s neck. “Maybe it’s okay to just exist for a while, but you need to do that for you, too. Take it just one day at a time, and I will too.” 

It took him a long time, several minutes of quiet and collecting himself, but Richie nodded before leaning forward to kiss Eddie. They savored this one, the salty taste of both their lips blending into something so bittersweet and pure. It contained a promise, of trying to heal and of always being there. It lasted for as long as it needed to seal the connection and reassure them both. Eddie tilted his head eventually, deepening it and giving a contented, surprised noise when Richie’s unafraid hand met his chest. 

Richie pulled back for air, and Eddie sheepishly smiled, “Sorry, I forget about that.” 

Richie smiled back, running his palm flat against Eddie’s healed sternum. “Tis okay, my love. I think things will be okay. Maybe you’re right. It might not be okay immediately, but it will.” 

“You’re right. Or, I’m right. I’m always right.”

Richie laughed, opening his arms for Eddie to lay down against him. He kissed his forehead, still trying to steady himself. “Always, sure.” 

“It’s true, dick.” 

“That’s my name.” 

“Richie!” Eddie slapped his arm.

“That’s also my name.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“That one is not though.” 

Eddie let out an exasperated sigh and kissed Richie to shut him up. Pulling back just barely, he looked at Richie seriously. “You’ll be okay?” 

Despite the little bit of hesitation to his nod, Richie agreed, “I’ll be okay, Eds.”

“Mhm.” Eddie gave him a smile, glancing back down at his lips. “Want to keep kissing? We still have like forty minutes.” 

Richie felt himself grin, and he nodded. “You are always right, you’re a genius.” 

Eddie just rolled his eyes at that, before pressing his lips to his love’s, only breaking away to whisper “I love you.” They repeated back and forth again, in hushed and reverent tones, with hope and with an earnestness that bordered desperation. And when the second jack o’ lantern on Richie’s porch went out at midnight, he hurt again, but maybe a little less than he had before. Maybe he would listen to Eddie, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d still remain a Halloween obsessed mess, or maybe he’d devote himself to healing. The right way, the way Eddie suggested. Maybe when he fell asleep that night, it was to wake up to a new morning for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, my first finishedish fic lol. There's a short epilogue still, but I may not publish it until next Halloween mwhahaha. Just kidding, if y'all want it sooner, I have it nearly ready to go.
> 
> Seriously though, thank you guys so much for reading. Any comments and feedback are super awesome, I always vibe with that. I appreciate you all and hope you're staying safe, healthy, and happy. Peace


End file.
